Who are we, really, in the grand scheme of things? And is there a grand scheme, even?
We wake up, we go to sleep. Day by day. After a while, the days accumulate. After a while, we start to call it life. But is it worth giving it a name? A context? Can you see the thread holding it all together?
Are you special because you are loved?
I changed rooms but I still sleep on the floor. One night a few months ago, I found a caterpillar trying to crawl up my arm. I freaked out. I killed it. I didn’t think. Just reacted.
I wonder if people arrive at their mistakes in the same way.
Who are you in the dark, I ask myself.
the butterfly lights
on my shoulder.
a rotting log.
1 This is from American Life in Poetry: Column 464 by Ted Kooser.